


a home, a home, a home

by redledgers



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Wings, maybe a little bit cracky but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 21:48:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20896613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redledgers/pseuds/redledgers
Summary: She wants to run her fingers through his hair, feel the soft down of his wings. She settles for brushing her fingertips against his shoulder. “Where’s my throw blanket?” she asks instead.





	a home, a home, a home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arlome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arlome/gifts).

It starts with an old sweatshirt from the police academy that she’d thought was buried at the back of her bottom drawer. Chloe knows it was there after the divorce so it can’t possibly be somewhere in Dan’s apartment, accidentally packed away without checking the size. Normally, she wouldn’t think twice about it, but the beach is cold at night, and what Chloe wants right now is an oversized sweatshirt that she doesn’t particularly care about getting drenched with seawater.

But it’s not in the laundry or the back of her closet, nor is it in Trixie’s things, and Chloe begins to wonder if she imagined owning it.

Then her pink sweatpants disappear.

And then it’s the throw she usually keeps draped over the back of the couch, the one used for movie nights or the odd evenings when she falls asleep while working on a case. “Trixie, did you take the blanket into your room?” she asks when she can’t find it in the laundry pile or the linen closet.

“No,” comes Trixie’s reply from where she’s rummaging under the bed. Chloe dares not ask what she’s doing, but assumes the answer would be something to do with her absolutely top secret “mommy doesn’t know” training sessions with Maze. But Chloe knows because Maze had asked.

Still, the throw doesn’t turn up.

No one has seen Lucifer for a week, which at this point is oddly normal. He can’t have popped back to Hell to check in on things because even though he isn’t answering texts, he _ is _ reading them. While they do still need their space after all this time, Chloe starts to wonder. 

Because a pair of fuzzy socks have gone missing and she’s absolutely sure they haven’t been eaten by the dryer monster that Trixie still insists is hiding in their laundry alcove.

“Hey Lucifer,” she says when she steps out of the elevator. “Do you have any hellhounds or something that could track down some missing items?” It’s a joke, but Chloe also suspects that those things exist, even if they haven’t talked too much about Hell. She doesn’t dare ask Maze and doesn’t think the interrogation would be appreciated anyway.

He’s not in his usual haunts when she surveys the room, not at the bar or leaning against the balustrades of the balcony. She spies him just up the stairs, taking up a vigil in the center of his bed, his wings draped over what Chloe can only describe as a nest. He doesn’t seem to acknowledge her entrance, not until she walks closer and can see his face is turned toward the sound of her footsteps, the barest of smiles gracing his lips. And, trapped between his cheek and a large pillow, is the sleeve of her missing sweatshirt.

“Lucifer,” she says, finding a spot to perch at the corner of the bed, the only space free of anything but the sheet stretched across the mattress. “Are you…?”

He cracks an eye open and stretches his wings, looking for all the world like a contented cat. “Am I what, Detective?”

She wants to run her fingers through his hair, feel the soft down of his wings. She settles for brushing her fingertips against his shoulder. “Where’s my throw blanket?” she asks instead.

Lucifer smiles. “Over here, I think,” he answers easily, nudging the far end of the nest with his toe. He’s languid and happy, something she is both envious of and perplexed by. He was rarely like this unless she slept over. “But this is so much better.” This was, of course, the sweatshirt she hadn’t worn seriously in a decade.

“Are you feeling okay?” She wonders if he could get sick with her nearby, and banishes that thought along with the following one that perhaps something had happened in therapy. Chloe hopes Linda would have said something though. 

“Mmmm, I’d be better if you climbed in here with me.” Lucifer has the audacity to look somewhat forlorn as he shifts, lifting a wing in invitation.

Chloe sighs before toeing off her shoes and climbing over the tiny wall of blankets and pillows and who knows what else to settle beside him. He’s burning hot, the soft structure trapping his already too warm body heat and storing it until it builds into an inferno. Before he can bundle her up in some semblance of a cuddle, Chloe pushes her jeans down, wiggling out of them as best she can in the limited space. 

“Oh, Detective,” Lucifer says, his breath hot against the shell of her ear. But he is stripped down to silken boxers, as if this was just another day of potential debauchery and not some wacky situation that Chloe barely knows what to do with.

The pants are halfheartedly kicked over the edge of the nest, and she twists to face him. “”Hey Lucifer?” She reaches out to brush her fingers against his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw until he smiles and kisses her fingertips. She knows he’s at least moved in the past few days because his stubble is immaculate. “What’s the point of all this?”

His hand finds her waist and he pulls her against him, tucking her beneath his chin and wings. “Well, it’s… simply something that feels right.” 

Chloe hums, listening to his heart beating steadily, focusing on the softness of wings against her calf. His answer is only slightly an evasion, but she’ll grant him that space. “So why did you need to steal my clothes?” 

Lucifer seems content with silence for a while, almost frozen in time, although she doesn’t feel his muscles tense or lock the way she has in the past. He’s completely boneless in this nest he has built. “Because, Detective. This is my home. _ You’re _ my home, Chloe.”

The words are a lance in her soul and a balm on her heart all at the same time, and Chloe presses as close as she can, ignoring the too hot cocoon he has gathered her into. She pushes the absurdity of this nest aside and focuses on that word. _ You saved my home_, he’d said, but that wasn’t all he had meant. She kisses his shoulder and holds him as if that was enough to tell him she understood. “Next time, maybe ask before you pilfer my wardrobe,” she mumbles against his skin. His responding chuckle spreads through her like warmth and home and safety.


End file.
